


As the Fire Spread

by OrdinaryVegan



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Also as always, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, andrew would prefer everyone to stay five feet away from him at all times, as always, kevin is stressed, neil is a trooper, with a wee bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryVegan/pseuds/OrdinaryVegan
Summary: Neil’s weight beside him is now familiar and even a comfort, sometimes. But on the occasions when Andrew’s senses are on overdrive and the smallest movement feels like an avalanche, an earthquake, a fucking planetary realignment, Neil knows better than to take Andrew’s abandonment personally.Neil’s hoodie is thrown over the back of his desk chair, so Andrew makes his way over to dig out the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. He thinks he could light it with just the fire on the edge of his tongue, but he grabs a lighter from the drawer just in case.---Neil wants to help. Andrew just wants to breathe without feeling like his lungs will go up in flames.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompt by @foxpaws10: Heeeeyyy, if you're still taking prompts how about "what do you want from me" for andreil with a shit ton of angst? ... And some fluff if possible ??? xx

Andrew opens his eyes to the pitch black of their dorm room, unable to move, barely able to breathe. His back is to the wall, his hands are clenched in the sheets, and he is struggling not to bite through his bottom lip. Images of demons past play behind his eyes, so he does his best not to blink. Andrew jumps when Neil makes a small noise in his sleep, and he feels like the walls are closing in on him. 

He climbs over Neil, careful not to touch him, and silently makes his way toward the door. He thinks he hears Neil call after him, but Andrew knows he will give him some space. At least for a little while. Andrew leaves the room, fully aware that this is just a feeble attempt at outrunning his own mind.

Neil’s weight beside him is now familiar and can even be a comfort, sometimes. But on the occasions when Andrew’s senses are on overdrive and the smallest movement feels like an avalanche, an earthquake, a fucking planetary realignment, Neil knows better than to take Andrew’s abandonment personally. 

Neil’s hoodie is thrown on the back of his desk chair, so Andrew makes his way over to dig out the pack of cigarettes from the pocket. He thinks he could light it with just the fire on the edge of his tongue, but he grabs a lighter from the drawer just in case.

He opens the window with so much force that the glass vibrates harshly for several seconds. Andrew is unconcerned. He watches with disinterest as a small crack forms at the bottom of the windowsill. Whatever. It’s still functional. 

He climbs onto his desk and pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning back against the wall before lighting his cigarette and taking a long, slow drag. Andrew wonders if maybe the smoke will clear out the tar in his lungs, if he’ll be able to breathe again. Probably not. 

Time passes, and Andrew doesn’t notice. An hour, maybe two. His breath fogs up the window. He stares outside as the sun slowly illuminates the parking lot below. The Maserati begins to take shape, and he has the sudden urge to drive until he can’t anymore. Maybe through the mountains, maybe off a cliff. Who knows.

He must be spending too much time around Neil.

Andrew distracts himself by recalling the highest points of elevation in the United States from a geography book he read in high school. He isn’t even halfway through the list when he hears the bedroom door open. He doesn’t look, but the sound of the door closing lets him know that it’s just Neil. He never lets the door click back into place; he turns the knob and shuts the door, releasing it only when the door is fully closed and will make no noise. Andrew isn’t sure whose sake he does this for. Maybe Kevin’s, maybe his own. 

He keeps his gaze trained on the parking lot until he feels Neil approach him. He slowly flicks off the ashes from his cigarette into the small pile he has made on top of Kevin’s history book. Ancient Rome or something equally as useless. Andrew doesn’t care enough to look. He turns his head to see that Neil has stopped a few feet away, running shoes in one hand and a hoodie in the other. He doesn’t say anything, but he extends the hand holding the hoodie, the same one that was on the chair. Andrew looks back to the window and takes note of the layer of frost on the outside. It’s probably a bit above freezing. Funny. Andrew hadn’t noticed.

He reaches out and takes the hoodie. Stares at Neil. Prepares to pry open his jaw and force out a reply to whatever Neil is about to say. 

But Neil doesn’t say anything. He simply nods, giving Andrew a small smile, and turns to leave. He is out the front door less than ten seconds later. Andrew does not know how to process the combination of relief and alarm he feels at Neil’s ability to read him this well. So he doesn’t. He drags his gaze back to the window and restarts on his elevation list from the top. 

\---

Hours later, Andrew is still at his perch by the window. He knows there are only forty-five precious minutes left until practice, and he plans to spend at least fifteen of them preparing to move, cherishing each one as it slips away. When the time finally comes, he makes sure his apathy is firmly in place before following Kevin and Neil downstairs. He drives his lot to the court and mechanically goes through the motions of suiting up. 

Neil keeps glancing at him in what he probably thinks is a perfectly nonchalant manner. He’s wrong. It’s starting to grate on Andrew’s nerves. If he needed something from Neil, he would tell him. Otherwise, he shouldn’t worry about it.

Andrew wishes that practice would pass by in a blur, like it often does. Not this time. Every moment is crystal clear. He feels every step like he’s walking through glass, every raise of his racquet like his arms are soldered to his sides and he has to rip them free again and again. 

When Wymack finally signals the end of practice, Neil makes his way over to Andrew. His helmet is under his arm, and his stupid orange bandanna is falling out of place. He once again gives Andrew a few feet of space, for which he is reluctantly grateful. 

“Kevin wants me to stay with him for a while,” Neil says, voice low and free of inflection. Damn him. Damn Neil for knowing the best way to handle him. It pisses Andrew off more today than it normally would. “You don’t have to stay,” Neil continues. “Really, we’ll be okay here. Go get some sleep.” And he’s just so earnest about it. He cares too fucking much.

Andrew levels him with a glare and shakes his head once. Like he could ever leave these two idiots alone. They wouldn’t survive the night. Neil presses his lips together but doesn’t argue further. Good choice. He gives a small nod and jogs back to center court where Kevin has been impatiently waiting. Andrew turns to head to the locker room, his only objective to change back into sweats and not move for several hours. Kevin’s voice calling his name makes him stop just short of the door. He turns to see the striker holding out his racquet, pointing at the goal. Andrew just stares at him.

“Kevin, let him go,” Neil says.

“What? He’s already in his gear, he might as well be useful. I can’t work on that shot without someone in the goal.” The look Neil gives him says that if Kevin keeps arguing, he might get a racquet to the face. For some reason, this irks Andrew. He doesn’t need Neil to fight his battles.

“No,” Neil says with force. “Back off. He doesn’t need this right now. Just leave him alone.”

And that. Well, that does it.

Andrew yanks on his helmet and slams the butt of his racquet onto the court. Neil and Kevin instantly go quiet and turn to stare at him. Andrew turns away and makes for the goal. He can almost _feel_ the smug look Kevin is currently sending Neil’s way. 

For the next two hours, Kevin and Neil take turns trying to make some ridiculous shot that they’ll probably never have the chance to take in an actual game. Not only does Andrew deflect 95% of them, but he sends them right back at the strikers’ knees, ankles, shins. He focuses his entire shitstorm of emotions into firing at them with as much force as possible. He refuses to hold back. They wanted Andrew Minyard, top goalie in Class I Exy, didn’t they? Wish granted. They’ve got him.

Andrew feels himself getting more and more worked up as the night wears on. He had tentatively thought that his efforts might calm him down, clear his mind of its frustration with its own fallibility. He was wrong. 

After Kevin has chased down what must have been the four hundredth deflection by now, he calls out, “Jesus, Andrew.” He is walking toward the goal, anger in his steps. Andrew makes no reply. He sees Neil start to make his way over, presumably to intervene.

Kevin continues, fuming. “What the fuck? We’re just wasting time and energy chasing the balls down. And you’re going to kill one of us with your rebound shots!”

“Let’s just call it a night,” Neil jumps in, ever quick to the rescue. “We’re all tired, we’ll come back tomorrow and—”

“Kevin,” Andrew cuts Neil off. “Could you please share with the class why exactly you wanted me in the goal if you didn’t want me to defend it?” His voice is calm, so calm. Dead. 

“You know that we—” Kevin attempts.

“What I know,” Andrew cuts in again, “is that I’ve been in that goal for a total of five hours today, blocking every one of your sorry ass shots. And now you’re complaining? Help me out, Kev.” The level of condescension is his voice shocks even Andrew, but he can’t stop now. He walks slowly forward until he is less than a foot away from Kevin. He reaches up and grabs the face mask of Kevin’s helmet, pulling him down until they can see eye-to-eye. Andrew asks quietly, “What do you want from me?”

“Kevin. Leave,” Neil says, a warning tone in his voice.

This distracts Andrew enough that he lets go of Kevin and whirls on Neil, the fire still on his tongue from this morning finding an outlet at long last.

“And what about you, Neil? What do _you_ want from me?” Andrew sees Kevin disappear through the door to the court from his periphery, but it is physically impossible for him to care less than he already does.

Neil is silent, and that just won’t do.

“Well?” Andrew asks, tired of this already. Tired of Kevin, tired of himself, tired of that look on Neil’s face, just _tired_.

Neil slowly places his racquet on the ground and takes a small step toward Andrew. Not like he’s approaching a wild animal, but rather like he’s trying not to move too quickly. He wants Andrew to be able to predict every move before he makes it.

“I only want what you are willing to give me,” Neil says, sincere as ever. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I would never ask for more than that.” 

And Andrew knows. Of course he knows that. This is Neil. His anger has deflated, and his apathy has made a triumphant return. 

He sees the look of relief in Neil’s eyes, like he could see a weight physically lift from Andrew’s shoulders. He probably did.

“Come on,” Neil says. “Let’s go home.”

Andrew huffs out a breath and takes the three steps that separate him from Neil. He swoops down to grab Neil’s racquet off the floor, then turns around without a word and heads for the exit. He can hear Neil’s sigh of relief as he opens the door, and he can’t help but share the sentiment. 

When they return to the dorm after a silent car ride to find Kevin already asleep, Neil heads for the ladder to climb up into his loft. He is stopped on the third step by Andrew’s hand tugging on his shirt. Neil looks down and cocks his head to the side. “Yeah?” He asks.

Andrew nods. Gets into bed and under the blanket. Shuffles back until he feels the wall behind him, waiting for Neil for take his usual place. 

Andrew watches Neil’s outline, the rise and fall of his chest getting slower with each passing moment. He falls asleep under Andrew’s gaze, as he does most nights.

Andrew takes in a deep breath. Exhales. Closes his eyes. And wakes up to sunlight streaming in through the window, bright blue eyes already on his.

**Author's Note:**

> looks like i skimped a bit on the fluff, eh? completely unintentional.
> 
> thank you for reading, friends! i am so grateful for each of you, and i hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> title from "Your Bones" by Of Monsters and Men
> 
> come scream with me on tumblr @theordinaryvegan


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